My aunt's head tilted to one side, a quizzical eyebrow arched. "Where I want to go?" Hazel questioned. She sat upright, back straightening as she uncrossed her legs.
The way my aunt asked the question, quietly and with that smoky timbre in her voice, gave me the impression she felt something too. I studied Hazel's expression while she sat there, apparently considering what I'd said. The look she wore had me thinking that, at that moment, she was no longer with me. In fact, the dreamlike quality, the distant look in her eyes, told me that my aunt was lost in some internal reverie.
Then she gave a little shiver and her eyes focussed upon me again. "Would you take me somewhere romantic, Carl?"
I didn't know if this was the drink talking or if, for some twisted reason of her own my aunt was teasing me, but the tone of her voice and Hazel's soft, questioning eyes stirred me on a visceral level. My throat swelled with emotion as I pictured the two of us somewhere like Florence or Paris, cities I'd never visited but which, in my mind, were the places where lovers went. In my head I saw Hazel laughing brightly, the iconic backdrop of the Eifel Tower all lit up in a benign Parisian summer night behind her; I saw her smiling face and the shimmer of her bobbed hair in the moments before I kissed her mouth.
My aunt's mouth! I was kissing my mother's sister, our tongues were sliding over and over as I held her waist in my hands and she pressed her body against me. My hands moved over the light cotton dress she wore, sliding over the rack of her ribs, the material of the dress bunching under my palms before I squeezed Hazel's breasts.
My erection, sudden and urgent was not to be ignored, and I heard my aunt moan when her hand pressed against the ridge of it that swelled in my jeans.
"Let's go back to the hotel," my aunt whispered in my ear. "I want to see you naked. I want to see your cock all stiff for me." Hazel slipped her tongue into my mouth and we kissed for a few seconds. "I want to lick it and taste it, Carl. Let's go back and we can fuck, darling. Show me how much you love me."
The scene went through my mind in a blink. I nodded at Hazel, the real Hazel, the one sitting on the sofa right there in the living room. "Yes, Aunt Hazel," I managed to croak, "somewhere romantic, somewhere where we could be together."
I don't know if Hazel saw it in my face or if she heard it in my voice, and I can't really recall much of what followed too clearly, but I suppose my words affected her in a way I'd not intended. It all came on like a dream, hazy and indistinct, and I couldn't say who did what first, but the next solid memory I have is of Hazel standing in front of me.
She stood there and gazed down at me, the expression she wore a mystery, beyond my experience. Hazel looked wistful, seductive. She stared at me bunched in the chair, her eyes fixed on mine, her gaze filled with tenderness before her look shifted again. My aunt's mouth curled ever so slightly at the corners, a suggestion of a sly, vulpine grin that sent a tingle of arousal through my already erect cock.
"Together, Carl," my aunt murmured, "the two of us together? If only we could, darling." Hazel sighed. "Would you make love to me, Carl?" she asked in a whisper.
"Aunt Hazel," I replied with a heavy gulp." I nodded and swallowed again, squirming in my seat at the discomfort caused by my hard-on straining against my jeans. "I would. For sure I would. I'd ... I'd ..."
"What would you do, Carl?" My aunt's voice was hypnotic, her eyes casting a spell. "If we were together, somewhere romantic." She reached out and touched my hair, her hand moving slowly down over my face. Hazel leaned forward, her fingers under my chin, her thumb sliding back and forth across my cheek. "Would you kiss me, Carl?"
Of their own accord, my hands went up to my aunt's hips. We stayed like that for long seconds, an unmoving tableau, my aunt leaning over me, our eyes locked.
The word creaked out of my dusty throat. "Yes," I croaked.
"You'd kiss me, Carl?" Hazel murmured. "Honestly? Would you really kiss me? Even though I'm your aunt?"
I didn't reply verbally, I couldn't. Instead, I merely nodded.
"What else?" Hazel continued, her voice a whisper. What else would we do?"
I could hear my heart beating as the blood, hot, quick blood rushed through my veins. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell my aunt of all the things I wanted to do to her, what I wanted us to experience together. Lewd images rolled across the movie screen of my mind. Scenes in which Hazel lay naked across some unknown bed, her arms reaching for me, her smile an invitation, her open legs welcoming.
"Everything," I finally gasped.
"Would you fuck me?" Hazel supplied the word I daren't use. "Would you fuck me, Carl?" Her eyes gleamed with what I can only assume was a sudden burst of sexual arousal. The lonely, wistful look had gone, replaced completely by a feral, desperate expression of desire.
"Aunt Hazel," I gasped, shocked by her use of profanity. Swearing wasn't my aunt's usual style.
"Oh, God," Hazel interrupted, "I want a man to love me. I want a man between my legs, one with a lovely hard dick that splits me open and fills me up. I want to feel a lovely cock inside me, a living, throbbing cock pulsing as it cums and cums and a man kisses my mouth. I want hands on my body, on my tits, squeezing them and being all rough while I ride up and down on his dick."
"Yuh-you shouldn't say things like that, Aunt Hazel," I stammered. Not to me. It ... it isn't right." The memory of an illicit yearning flooded my face with heat.
If truth be told I'd harboured an infatuation for my aunt, just for a short period, a couple of weeks at most, just after I'd moved in with her. I'd found a magazine in the attic when I was lifting my empty suitcase up there for storage after unpacking – a soft-core magazine that featured a series of women who, initially dressed – secretary, teacher, doctor – then stripped down to lingerie. I assumed the dirty magazine had been left behind by Hazel's former husband, forgotten up there amongst the insulation and cobwebs. After a quick flick through the pages, I shoved the magazine into the front of my jeans and scuttled away to what was now my bedroom. It wasn't until later the same day, alone in my bedroom that I took a more detailed look at the models. I was there, on my bed, unable to resist the urge to play with my cock during a leisurely perusal of the flesh fiesta on display when I noticed that one of the models bore a resemblance to my Aunt.
The likeness was so strong that I was sure the woman was Hazel, and I even – after much rummaging in drawers around the house – used a magnifying glass in an attempt to spot any distinguishing marks, like a mole or a birthmark or tattoo. There was nothing I could see in the photos that disqualified my aunt, and the possibility, however unlikely that it was her, smiling as she offered a gynaecological pose, caused a few fantasies to form in my head.
Ignoring the other models, I'd tug my dick and picture my aunt posing for me, thinking of how exciting it would be to have her wide-legged and smirking at me in real-life. I imagined her breasts in my hands or me sucking her nipples; I wondered at the texture of her buttocks if I could just knead that spongy flesh. What would it feel like to have her straddling me, a hand holding my cock upright as she lowered her body over mine and her pussy accommodated the rigid length. I could hear my aunt's sighs and moans and soft murmurs of endearment. I could taste her kisses.
For a time, the chance, however slim a possibility that Hazel actually was the model – after all, why would her husband have kept that magazine? – I nurtured the fantasy of making love to my own mother's sister. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but that didn't make any difference. If anything the taboo only caused my orgasms to burn hotter.
It ended after a close-call, almost being caught with the magazine spread across my bed while I knelt there, fist pumping my cock. It was just as my climax struck, the jizm boiling out of me that I heard the squeak on the stairs, a sound I'd identified as the loose tread, the one fifth from the top. There was no way I could stem the flow of my outpouring as a coldwater wave of shock washed over me. Panic mushroomed in my chest, and I think I might even have blurted out a denial as a hundred thoughts clamoured inside my head at once. It couldn't be. It just couldn't happen. It couldn't be Hazel. There had to be some other explanation for the sound on the stairs. I truly, honestly harboured the fantastic belief that my aunt could walk in and catch me in such a position.
